Favours
by stormfirej
Summary: Spain always asks favours of Romano. And for some reason, Romano always gives in. Oneshot.


_Hello. This is actually my Disneyland fanfiction, requested by bearsofalthain. I changed it because I disliked how the previous one turned out. Anyway, here it is now, have fun reading! uwu_

_I have been informed that it is disneywold and not Disneyland, so I changed that. Thanks xD_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. **

* * *

><p>Spain sidles up to me and places his hands on my waist.<p>

"Loviiiiii?" He asks, breathing into my ear, causing me to shiver slightly.

"What is it, bastard?" I ask, violently stirring the bolognese sauce. That voice is the voice he uses when he wants favours.

And he always wants favours.

"Well..." He begins, slow as ever.

I pull the wooden spoon out of the sauce and grumpily fling it at him, getting some of the red sauce on his face.

Antonio seems to be used to it as he doesn't even squeak, he just grabs a napkin and wipes his face.

"Iwanttogotodisneyworld." He says rapidly, so fast I can't catch anything.

I pause with stirring the sauce and give him a look. "Will it kill you to speak coherently?"

Clad in a shirt, shorts and an apron, I didn't feel particularly threatening (but I suppose the red spots from the sauce could potentially be bloodstains) but I gave him my best glare.

Spain sticks his tongue out at me. "Can we go to Disneyworld?" He asks again, this time deliberately slow.

I glare at him again. "Disneyworld?"

He gives me a toothy grin. "Si, Lovi, Disneyworld! We could go to Florida!"

"Isn't it Disneyland?" I ask, turning to him with a confused expression.

"In Florida it's Disneyworld." Spain shrugs.

"No." I deadpan, and resume my stirring.

His face falls dramatically. "W-why not?" He asks sorrowfully.

"Because."

"Because?"

"Just because." I roll my eyes and put on a pot of water to boil, for cooking the spaghetti.

"But Lovi! We haven't been away for _ages_!" Spain whines, pulling on my shirt sleeve.

I consider this. He _is_ right, we haven't left Spain in months. Or years. No, just months. Unless you count out of Italy and Spain, which is years.

...

Whatever.

"And it's almost my birthday!" Spain blithely continues, giving me the puppy eyes he is famous for.

I consider this too. It is February the 7th.

"Also, if we go now, we can go for Valentine's Day!" Spain's voice rises an octave.

I pour the pasta into the pot and relent, giving an almost unidentifiable nod, but Spain always notices and gives me a kiss on the cheek, murmuring grateful thank yous and mumbling incoherent words.

He's the mushy sort, in case you couldn't tell.

I give him a small smile because all these sentimental nothings make me warm inside even though I try not to make it noticeable and peck him on the lips before hurriedly checking on the sauce.

Spain, arms still around my waist, blows into my ear. "Not to mention, I'm tired of changing the sheets."

I hit him with the spatula.

**XxX**

We finally leave on the 10th, with Spain bubbly with excitement ("Disneyworld, Lovi!") and me trying to maintain my apathy but secretly looking forward to the amusement park.

Halfway through the incredibly long flight, it occurs to me what we are doing is completely clichéd and could've come out of a romance novel (not that I have one in my bag no), but I don't really care.

I'm in the middle of watching an intense Captain America fight scene (does anyone else ship Bucky and Steve?) when Spain interrupts me by rubbing circles on my thigh beneath the blanket.

I turn to look at him and he gives me a suggestive wink, which makes me blush intensely.

I hit him with the remote, causing him to give me a pouty face.

I glare at him some more and he finally turns back to his screen.

Damn pervert.

**XxX**

We finally touch down in sunny Florida, where the air is so hot I feel like I can melt.

Spain appears to be regretting his choice too as he takes off his jacket, then his overshirt, until all he is wearing is a tight wine red shirt that certainly leaves less to the imagination.

I am wearing shorts (always come prepared friends) and laughing at his misery while evil eyeing girls (and guys) who so much so as dare to take a glance longer than 5 seconds at my boyfriend.

_My_ boyfriend.

The romance novel in my bag makes a ruffling sound teasingly; I wisely choose to ignore it because I actually like that book.

Books are nice.

There was one time where Spain and I were fighting I ran out the door to the bookstore and bought a gazillion books and brought them back.

So I picked up the first book and read the first few chapters and when it turned out to be one of those sappy romance novels which made my heart hurt, I did the next best thing to shredding up a completely perfect book (except for the circumstances), which was to toss it out the window.

I'm a very violent person.

It landed on Spain's head and he looked at it (the cover said something like FALLING FOR YOU...EVERYDAY) and thought it was a sign I was sorry (Because I usually fail at apologies) and opened the door to my bedroom to find me sitting with the entire contents of my bookshelf emptied and in stacks around me with a tub of opened gelato and dozens of newly bought bears.

Hella.

Spain chooses that moment to take my hand and interlace our fingers, and I get a kick from the brief satisfactory feeling at from watching everyone who was staring suddenly look away.

We wander around the Orlando airport with our luggages in tow, and finally make it out alive carrying a bag of Krispy Kreme donuts (for me) and a Starbucks cup (for Spain, he's 'hipster').

We take a taxi to our hotel (the Hilton because it's nearby and staying in Disneyworld would be majorly overly expensive and our economies are currently suffering) and crash out on the king bed.

Eventually we drag ourselves to the shower and then to the bed (we only got one) and I try to sleep.

Keyword: try.

Spain kept me up half the night and you bet your fake jean pockets that I won't tell you why.

Except that it starts with an s and needs with an s.

And has a nore in the middle.

Never, ever, let him lie on his back I tell you.

**XxX**

The next morning, we head off to Disneyland-Disneyworld, whatever (with sunny skies hella).

We walk through the gates holding hands (gaytes?) and I immediately fall in love with Disneyworld.

"There are so many rides!" I gush and race about, desperate to try them all while Spain chuckles and kisses me at every opportunity he gets.

Some people wrinkle their noises and then look away, so I flip them the bird and let Spain freak out over my behaviour.

"Lovi, you can't just give people the middle finger because they wrinkle their nose!" Spain gasps, exasperated, as I do it for the third time since we've stepped into the park.

"Then what should I do?" I ask annoyed, as yet another couple cover their eyes and walk away.

Seriously. We aren't contagious. What the fuck.

A particularly vocal group comes by and upon seeing Spain holding my hand erupt into conversation on how gays are taking over the world (can't wait) and how there are too many of them (?), and how they shouldn't be allowed to do that in public. (hey!)

Spain grits his teeth, finally snapping and I feel my middle finger slowly rising, but then he does the best thing ever.

This is why I love this big oaf.

All of a sudden he yanks me forward and kisses me, taking advantage of my open mouth to slip his tongue inside until we were completely making out in front of literally _everyone_.

I gasp audibly and try to pull away but he has me in such a vice grip that I can do nothing but kiss back.

W-which I don't mind doing.

When he lets me go (which isn't very soon) I see that everyone who previously talked shit opening and closing their mouth like a fish.

Spain has this satisfied look on his face as he takes my hand and walks to the next ride like he did absolutely nothing.

I laugh the entire way.

**XxX**

"What is that?" I stare at an oversized version of Goofy waving at little children. I clutch at Spain's arms.

"That's a costume, Lovi," he says placatingly. "There's someone inside."

"It's a pedophile," I hiss as it hugs a toddler. "You don't know who is inside and you're just going to let it hug you?"

Spain ruffles my hair. "That's kind of the point, love."

I ignore him. "What if it's a killer?"

Spain kisses my cheek.

"What if it's a serial killer?" I continue.

He gives me a weird look.

"What if it's a machete wielding serial killer?" I finish, giving Spain a pointed stare.

"It's not." He deadpans.

"How do you know?" I demand, and Spain pushes me into the next area, out of sight of the serial killer.

Thankfully, there aren't many people there, and we don't have to wait long to get onto the rides.

Now, here's something I was unaware of: Spain is terrified of roller coasters. Especially the ones with the loops.

I am not usually mean to Spain (unless you consider hitting him with anything I have in my hand) but I taunt him now by re-riding and re-riding the ones with the loops.

Spain is not a coward. There, I've said something sweet about him. Do I get a reward?

No?

Aww.

Spain follows me onto each and every roller coaster I go to, without complaining, merely giving me pale, wide-eyed looks and shrieking while the roller coaster was in motion.

So to compensate for being a dick I follow him onto his rides, mainly the water ones and the spinning teacup ride.

The water ones were hell.

They were the last ones we went on, and they made us soaked. To the bone.

My shirt and shorts were wet because, oh, guess what?

You could pay a dollar to shoot water from a cannon on the side at the people in the coaster while the ride was in motion.

Spain and I were seated next to a couple, who got shot at by their friends on the side.

Shall we just say that they had terrible aim?

While walking back to the rented car (a crappy KIA), I turn to Spain and say, "I bet those people had machetes in their bags."

Spain again gives me a look, with one eyebrow quirked. "What is it with you and machetes?" He asks, ruffling my hair and getting dangerously close to my curl.

I hit him with the Disneyworld map. "I read a book about an American couple who went around killing people with machetes. Only the police didn't know who was killing them because the couple faked their death, and the fact that machetes weren't commonly used in America. So they thought it was some high grade weapon until the Asian police officer suddenly yelled ITS GODDAMN MACHETES."

Spain opens the car door for me (that gentleman) and gives me a small smile. "Maybe you shouldn't read murder mysteries then."

I gasp in horror as I slide into the seat. "Give up my crime stories? That's like asking Pooh to give up honey, or celebrities to stop naming their children idiotic names!"

Spain's chuckle can be heard through the car door.

**XxX**

We crawl back to the room, dripping wet and tired, Spain giddy from the roller coasters and leaning on me.

We still have other days, but Orlando is stuffed full with amusement parks and other wackadoodle things so chances are we are not going to be bored.

Seriously, Orlando is insane.

Is there a bookstore nearby? I should google that.

"Loviiii?" He whispers into my ear, and I give him a glare. That's his favour asking voice.

And he always wants favours.

"Can you join me in the shower?"

I hit him with my hat, but five minutes later I nod. And then I hit him again.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for reading! Please leave a review if you liked it (or didn't)<em>

_~stormfirej_


End file.
